


Why Max Is How He Is.

by ratboijoob



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Neglect, David Acting as Max's Parental Figure | Dadvid (Camp Camp), David Adopts Max (Camp Camp), Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Max (Camp Camp) Needs a Hug, Max (Camp Camp) Swears, Max's (Camp Camp) Parents Are Bad Parents, Max-centric (Camp Camp), My First Fanfic, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 10:22:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22848598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratboijoob/pseuds/ratboijoob
Summary: Max has always been a little shit - ever since he first came to camp and long before that, everyone assumes. But was he just born like that? Or is there a reason the boy is so messed up?Shippers DNI, you make me fucking sick.Trigger warnings at the start of each chapter! :-)
Relationships: David & Max (Camp Camp)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 282





	1. Prologue.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N- hey there I'm Joob. This is my first fanfic so I hope it's decent. Leave criticism.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Max views the people around him, himself, and his abuse - and how those views have changed over time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - implied childhood abuse, victim blaming, implied childhood neglect.

It's Max's second year at this shitty camp since he may or not have been banned from his last one permanently. It's a good thing Campbell is a careless, money-grubbing prick who couldn't even be bothered to so much as glance at the camper's applications or Max doubted he would've been going to camp this year. He'd never admit this, but even this shit hole everyone calls a camp is better than his home. His home that he wasn't sure could really be considered a **home** at all; a home is somewhere you can go to relax, where you feel safe.

Max has been a 'Bad Kid' for as long as he can remember, lashing out with insults and sometimes violence when he gets pissed off. No one ever questioned his behaviour, only a few comments about how his parents should smack some manners into the boy. _'Trust me, they try.'_ Max would think bitterly. Because of those comments, Max assumed his home life was normal for a long time. All kids have to wear big clothes to hide their skinniness and bruises, just no one talks about it - it's surely an unspoken rule of some sorts, right? And so, if this is just normal, Max is just a Bad Kid and that's all there is to it. If he gets hit more than the other kids (because they never seemed to have to skip PE to get out of changing at school as often as he did), it's because he's a Bad Kid. It's his fault.

Max only find out otherwise on his first time going to camp. He was six and his parents made it a point to drill it into him that he was going because he's a nuisance and they don't want to deal with him. It wasn't too bad, other than the fact there was a uniform so he couldn't wear his blue hoodie. It was a rather large and popular camp which was good because he got away with not doing anything, and there were plenty of people to piss off and plenty of places to hide from councillors. One night he was sitting in his tent with two of his tentmates, talking about whatever when they got onto the subject of family. At first they talked about what their parents do for a living, if they have siblings, the ages of people in their family, pets, and other normal subjects when Max casually asked, "when was the last time your parents hit you?"

They stared at him as if he had grown ten heads, their previous smiles gone and the atmosphere tense. "What...?" Max asked hesitantly.

"I don't think parents are supposed to hit their kids, Max." One of the kids said.

"What? You're messing with me." After a moment of looking at their faces for any signs of lying, he said, "yeah, duh, of course. You thought I was being serious? Idiots." With an easily forced laugh. Thankfully they brought his excuse and laughed, moving on and never mentioning it again.

This only made Max more bitter and so he doubled his bad behaviour. If other kids weren't hit at all and he was the only one as far as he could tell, he'd make the punishment worth it by being the biggest bastard he could. He was mad. Mad at his parents for being such pricks, mad at the other kids because it wasn't fair that he got hurt and they didn't, and he was mad at the world - because it was a cold place where no one gives a shit. No one cares, even if they say they do.

At eight years old, back at that camp, he went a little too far. He had bit a councillor in a fit of rage after one of them called him a spoilt, entitled brat - it had pissed him off because of how far from the truth they were. They were scolding him for making one of the other campers cry, waving their fat finger in Max's face and ignoring how Max was flinching when it got too close, when Max bit it as hard as he could before running off. He hadn't wanted to hurt the councillor but he was scared and angry. It turned out that he had fractured the councillor's finger and so he was sent home - Max's parents had to pay the medical bills. They made sure he couldn't walk for the rest of the summer after that. Max was convinced he deserved it.


	2. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since parent's day, Max has been trying to distance himself...
> 
> TW - implied child abuse, implied child neglect, swearing, dissociation

Since parent's day, Max has been trying to distance himself from not only the other campers but also David and Gwen. He doesn't want them to ask any questions after almost spilling everything to them.

Now, Max **is not** scared. He's not some pussy. He just doesn't want their fucking pity. And he's learnt what happens when you get close to adults, it's purely a survival thing - he's not scared. Besides, it's not like they'd believe him; he had tried before, shortly after he figured out that this shit isn't normal. He'd told a teacher and had only gotten a sigh and a, 'this attention seeking is going too far, Max.' That was more than enough to shut him up forever. Fuck adults.

David clearly pities him considering the way he's been palling around with Max constantly, the annoying bastard. He's not a fucking six-year-old, he's fine. Sometimes Max will catch the lanky ass councillor's concerned gaze on him when he thinks the boy isn't looking and get a scowl in return.

Apparently distancing himself isn't working in his favour because after a week of doing so, he's called into the councillor's cabin by Gwen and David. Nikki howls a "Oooo, Max is in trouble!" as he's lead away by Gwen, earning a snicker from Niel and a forced smug smirk from Max.

As the curly haired boy enters the cabin, he doesn't so much as acknowledge David, climbing up onto a spinny office chair. Only then does he raise his head, looking between David and Gwen before asking snarkily, "so is this some sort of gangrape because if so, can we get on with it?"

David gasps as Gwen sighs and grabs the bridge of her nose. "No, Max. I think you know what this is about." She says tiredly, making Max scrunch his nose up.

"Throwing pebbles at Spacekid's helmet until it broke?" He asks, giving them an event they didn't know about in an attempt to change the subject. _'Or maybe it was that,'_ he thinks hopefully.

"You did what?? Max—" David begins only to get cut off by Gwen.

"David, don't get distracted!" She snaps.

"Right, yes, sorry." The tree-hugging fuck says, back on track. "Max, on parent's day—"

Max decides to also cut off the passive man with a groan, just to show his distaste for this conversation.

"Max, I know this may be scary—" He tries to continue with a soft voice, as if he's sedating some wild animal, just to get cut off again.

"I'm not fucking scared, David! Don't pity me!" He yells, his voice wavering unhelpfully at some point during his explosion. He's not scared, he's not. Just because the accusatory finger aimed at David is shaking along with the rest of his body more than usual and his palms are unusually sweaty and his heart is beating a little too fast and– doesn't matter, cuz he's not scared.

"We're not pitying you, you little shit!" Gwen yells back, calming down after Max flinches, then watching him with calculating eyes because of course she noticed that. She continues at a normal volume, "we want to help."

While Max is grateful for the lack of a soft 'don't-worry-little-boy-I'm-here-for-you-aww-he's-so-vunerable-and-pathetic' tone of voice, he's still not going to budge. This isn't some picture perfect movie where the abused little kid cries and tells the first adult to give him even the slightest bit of attention every fucked up thing that's happened to him. So Max settles for silence.

He's back with Nikkie and Niel not long after his momentary vow of silence. It had worked even better than he'd thought it would. For... an amount of time (Max wasn't paying attention, he couldn't really for some reason, maybe he didn't want to hear their questions), they tried drilling him with invasive questions - some a lot more specific than others - gaining absolutely no answers. He was so zoned out by the end that they had to call his name few times before he was aware of what was going on around him again.

Later on in his tent, as Max lays awake in his humid sleeping bag, he thinks about that. It had started off as him choosing to stay silent out of stubbornness and **absolutely not fear or anything of the sort** but the more he listened to their questions and stopped wanting to hear them, the less he did. And then it was like he was floating or something, not even there. Everything had just slipped away, it was almost peaceful. The more he thinks about it, the more he realises that isn't the first time this has happened. It usually happened when thinking or talking about his parents or when they were... It doesn't matter.

He chooses to move on from that, worrying about how shitty tomorrow will probably be.


	3. Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max has never been taught how to healthily cope with things. David catches him doing something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - self harm, implied child neglect, mentioned child abuse, mentions of dissociation and panic attacks,

Max, as an abused and emotionally (& physically) stunted child, has never been taught how to cope with his issues in a healthy way. So he has his own ways of doing so.

His usual go-to in coping is being dick. Deflecting and defensive constantly, if you will. 'They can't hurt you if you hurt them first' type of attitude. Everyone at the camp is used to that, it's sure better than whatever the fuck Nurf has going on.

So, sure, being an angry asshole all the time isn't ideal but it's not that bad. It wouldn't be that bad if it wasn't for the fact that's not the only terrible coping method he has.

It started when he was young. Sometimes if he thought he was in danger, he'd just zone out. It would feel as if he was watching what was happening instead of it happening. And that was great when something bad was actually happening but then he found that he'd start doing it when something insignificant happened - like a banging noise or a teacher telling him off.

But then he made a discovery: pain. It was grounding. He'd dig his nails into the palm of his small hand and he would feel present again. It was astonishing how easy it was. Who cares if sometimes, when he was far gone, he'd do it too hard and make himself bleed? And who cares that it left him with little lines in his palms? It worked and _he did it himself_. He could control it.

So maybe if the pain helped control that, it could help him control the times he can't breath and he won't stop trembling. And it did. The pain was calming.

He spiralled, though. It went from digging his nails in to busting open his sharpeners for the blade inside. He bathed in the feeling that he was controlling the blade, he was controlling the pain happening to him. He could stop at any time. After something bad or painful would happen, he'd find comfort in that blade that he controlled.

Then it became a habit- no, an addiction. It didn't matter if something bad had happened, he craved that feeling of control and relief.

—————

The first time he's caught happens at camp because of course it does. Of-fucking-course.

He's snuck off during an activity, the loudness around him starting to overwhelm him. The feeling of being unsafe had returned as it often does, vague phrases he recognised from home. He felt himself starting to get lost in his own head, swimming around in the traumatic memories and not quite knowing which one he was suffering through.

He's sitting behind a tree, hoping that's a good enough hiding spot. He takes the small blade out of his pocket and takes off his shoe, rolling down the sock. The first few cuts could barely be considered that, lightly dancing over the skin. The rest he presses down properly, sighing heavily with relief as he sees the buds of blood begin to form over the cuts and then drip down his foot.

He doesn't know how many he's done before he hears a familiar voice and practically jumps out of his skin.

"Max!" The man begins cheerily, that stupid fucking camp man - _'of course it had to be him! For fuck's sake!'_ Max finds himself thinking.  
He scrambles to hide his foot and the blade at the same time, doing neither too successfully before looking back up at David nervously; his face has dropped, worry lines between his eyebrows and on his forehead prominent.  
"Max..." He repeats somberly, that one world speaking a thousand different meanings.  
 _'Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit!'_ Max repeats a mantra in his head, panicking as he tries to think up an excuse.  
David kneels down next to him, looking pointedly at the cuts, "you did that, Max?"  
"Do you see anyone else around, moron?" He spits back, his voice shaky.  
"Can you walk?" The lanky man asks uncharacteristically quietly, softly.  
"I'm not a cripple - yes, I can walk." He grits his teeth and starts quickly rolling up his sock before putting his shoe back on.  
"Come with me, Max."  
"Whatever."

They get to the councillor's cabin and Max warily watches David. "Could you sit down so I can look at your ankle?" The said man asks, gesturing towards a chair.  
Being a little shit, he falls unceremoniously onto the floor with his leg out, glaring.  
David just sighs and sits down opposite, taking off his shoe and sock again. He looks at the cuts but it's slightly difficult because of all the blood. "Wait here." He says and leaves the room.

David soon returns with a first aid kit, sitting back down cross-legged and opening the kit.  
He opens an anti-septic wipe. "This will sting a little."  
"Anymore than cutting myself up?" Max fires back.  
David's shocked look is worth acknowledging the situation. He doesn't answer before wiping up the blood, Max forces himself to not react.  
Bandages are soon wrapped around Max's ankle.

Based on the look David gives him, Max assumes he's gonna be forced to talk now. "Have you done this before?" David asks, earning a small nod from the boy.  
"How many times?" He asks and Max shrugs.  
"How... How long? Since when?"   
"A while, does it matter?" The dark haired boy speaks up, a bite in his voice. Like a scared dog.  
"How long is a while?" He presses.  
"Since I was like eight or something..." He mumbles.  
"Why?" The calmness in David's voice is putting him at a level of ease.  
Max shifts, hugging his knees to his chest. He shrugs, he's honestly not sure why. "Comforting, I guess...?" He says eventually, barely a whisper.  
"Comforting how?"  
"I don't fucking know!" He yelps hysterically.  
"Max, take a deep breath."  
He does, whispering "fuck you," for good measure.

After a while of silence other than Max's heavy breathing, David asks, "do you want to talk about your parents?"  
Max picks at the skin around his fingernail, shrugging a little.  
"Is something bad happening at home?"  
He hesitates before giving a small nod.  
"It's okay to be scared, Max. You're safe here, with me. Nobody is going to hurt you. I can get you away from them if you tell me what's happening."  
"Don't pity me..." He whispers, trying to avoid talking about it.  
"I'm not, Max. I swear. I just want to help you, it's okay to accept help."  
"Didn't believe me last time..." Max whispers, feeling small as his bottom lip trembles with the tears threatening to fall.  
"Who?"  
"Teacher..."  
"Oh, I'm so sorry. That won't happen, I'll believe you no matter what you say. I'm here for you."  
"I..." His eyebrows furrow and arch with sadness and worry. "I can't..." He chokes out, the tears falling.  
David gets up quickly and Max flinches with a thought of: _'Fuck he's pissed. You idiot, this is why you don't cry! Pussy!'_  
"Sorry, I'm getting tissues." The tall man leans down to pat the much smaller boy's head.  
 _'Oh. That's new...'_

David returns with tissues, handing them to a sniffling Max. He sits back down, watching silently for a moment as the boy wipes his eyes, carefully trying to choose his next words.  
"You don't have to talk about it." Is what he settles on but elaborates after seeing Max's confused look. "You could try writing it down?"  
Max shrugs before nodding slightly.  
"Thank you. Could you give me the blade?" He wasn't planning on asking this but the interaction was going well so far so he thought he may as well try.  
Max silently hands him it before showing himself out.  
 _'Oh boy, I hope he doesn't have any others.'_ David thinks before flushing the blade, not trusting himself with it either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, Davie has some of his own issues?? Who would've thought this could have got EVEN ANGSTIER!
> 
> Give me constructive criticism please and thank you.


	4. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max tries to write his past. Also nightmares suck.
> 
> AN - it's 4:37AM so I apologise for the shitty writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - self deprecation, implied/referenced child abuse, PTSD flashbacks and nightmares, suicidal thoughts.

Max had tried doing what David advised. He really did. But everytime he'd stop before he was more than half way through. For many different reasons: sometimes he just couldn't handle it - his hands would shake intensely to the point where he wouldn't write anymore anyway or he'd break down sobbing or he'd just feel pathetic and numb and remember that it doesn't matter, that he doesn't matter or he'd forget where he is and it would be like he was back with them, being hurt all over again - those were the worst, he never knew what was happening; other times someone would come over and he'd scribble out whatever he had wrote before crumbling the paper up into a small ball and nonchalantly chuck it in a nearby bin as if he was shooting a basket; and there were also a few times someone would manage to sneak up on him and ask him what he's doing, prying when Max (somewhat defensively but can you blame him) would insist it's nothing important, which then lead to uneducated teasing like 'are you writing a love note??' or other just as fucking dumb shit. So yeah maybe Max had given up for a while, he'd do it when he got a proper chance.

\----

Sometimes Max has bad nights, where he can't sleep for the fucking life of him. Tonight is one of those nights.

After lying awake in his bed for what must have been at least two hours, he felt himself slipping finally into sleep. It didn't last long - soon after he was awoken by his own mind, gasping at the vivid nightmare he'd just experienced. "Fuck that..." He whispers to himself once he's calmed more, slipping out of bed and exiting his tent quietly, cautious to not wake Neil.

He wanders around the camp for a short while before settling on going to the docks.

As he sits there with the night's breeze calming him further, he watches the slow ripples of the lake. He wonders what it would feel like to be under there, let the calm water consume him. No more parents, no more camp, no more pain. It's not like anyone would miss him, he's a Bad Kid after all.

A touch on his shoulder makes him startle and swiftly turn with a yelp of, "fuck!"

Unfortunately he doesn't see anyone planning on murdering him, instead he sees something so much worse - David.

"Max, what are you doing out here so early?" The irritating bastard asks.  
"Could ask you the same thing, camp man." He snaps back.  
"That's fair. I couldn't sleep, it happens."  
This makes Max look up at David, "it does?"  
"Mmhmm, I assume that's why you're out here, too?" David sounds less obnoxious than usual, almost sedated. Max assumes he's just tired.  
"Kinda..." He mumbles, staring back out at the lake again.  
The wood of the dock creaks as David lowers himself to sit next to the small camper, "something else?"  
Max thinks over his response before eventually, after a long pause, replying. "Yeah. Nightmares."

There's a moment of silence as David turns to look at Max, the camper in question staring adamantly at the slowly flowing water.

"Would you like to talk about it?"  
Max simply shakes his head.  
"Would you be comfortable looking at me, Max?" David asks calmly, in a way that actually sounds like a question.  
He nods, turning towards him and glancing up into his eyes.

David smiles calmly, "thank you. Max I know your home life is bad and you shouldn't have to experience anything like that, especially not at your age. But I want you to know that I'll always be here for you, even after you've left camp. You can talk to me about anything, if you're comfortable doing so. I know it's hard and it's okay if you're scared but I'll believe you and help you any way I can. I see you, Max. And I'm proud of you."

Max stares into his kind eyes with disbelieve, his own brimming with tears. A simple, weak, "fuck you David..." slips out of his ajar mouth.

The small boy shuffles closer to the lanky councillor, the latter understanding and opening his arms.

\-----

A mere hour later, David looks down at the sleeping boy in his arms and smiles. He'll be okay, David will make sure of it.


	5. Hey, Dad– shit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our boy comes to an embarrassing realization and has yet another nightmare. Slowly becoming less alone.
> 
> Mostly fluff this chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW – self harm/suicide joke early on, nightmares, implied abuse, briefly implied flashbacks
> 
> AN: It is yet again ungodly times of the morning, please kill me. I've been hyperfixating on the Dream SMP so forgive me for not posting, Tommy and Max have similar energy so I can just pretend I'm writing a DSMP fic. Although, it is probably OOC.

The next morning, Max woke up back in his bed tent, trying to ignore the fact that this means David fucking carried him to bed and tucked him in. Oh my god. Maybe he should have cut deeper, finished himself off so this never happened.  
He realizes that Neil has been trying to get his attention this entire time so he finally turns towards his Jewish friend, expression flat as he clocks what he's saying: "The fuck was that, Max? Whatever. Get up." Max simply groans in response, earning a fond mutter of "dramatic bitch" from his tent mate. Snickering quietly, he drags himself out of bed.

Letting out a dramatic yawn, he follows his far too tall friend into the mess hall. As he enters, he makes a point to avoid the overbearing, concerned gaze of David. He's already ~~embarrassed~~ pissed off enough about last night, he doesn't need any of the other campers knowing about this.

Falling into easy conversation with Nikki and Neil, he barely clocks the camp councillor approaching and doesn't mind the fact that he is. He's used to their routine.

David comes from behind him and ruffles the smaller's already unkempt hair, "gooooooood morning, Max!" The ~~twink~~ man greets with far too much energy for these ungodly hours in the morning.

"Hey, Dad– shit." Max immediately catches his own mistake. He just hopes no one else heard or realised that.

It's quiet for a few seconds. And then chaos erupts across the table: Nikki laughs obnoxiously, wheezing and smacking her fist on the table; Neil just smirks smugly at him, nodding as if he knows something the rest of them don't; David explodes into incoherent, high-pitched screeching - Max thinks that he's probably saying words, but there's no real way of knowing.

Now the rest of the hall are staring at them, wondering what's going on - fantastic.

Max crosses his arms grumpily, his face (and honestly everywhere else) feeling very warm, "oh my god, it's not that fucking big of a deal! Everyone fucks up and does that shit!" He yells defensively.

"What the fuck happened??" Gwen asks, her voice a mix of confusion and annoyance.  
"Max called David dad!"  
And the rest of the camp joins in with laughing at him.

The rest of the day was filled with jokes about the morning's events and Max wanting to commit toaster bath.

———

He hunches over his own lap, small frame shaking with silent sobs to not wake up his tent mate. Max laughs - a quiet, manic thing - burying his face in his hands and gripping his long unruly, curly hair. It hurts but he doesn't mind. God, he's fucking losing it, huh?

Usually these nightmares were rarer, only occurring a few times a month. After all, there's no point in dreaming about something you're currently living. But right now, he's away (safe?) and trying to write down his past (past? _past!!_ ) has been making him fucking freak out.

Now he sits pathetically drowning in his thoughts, senses from another time overwhelming him. Fuck. He's safe, he's fine, can he _please_ calm the fuck down?

Forcing himself to take a shuddering deep breath, Max uncurls from his protective ball and attempts to scrub his face dry from the tears, though it only really works for a brief moment before the tears uncontrollably leaking out of his eyes just ruin all his process.

Another wave of... memories? Past feelings? _Dangerdangerdanger!_ Cause him to let out a particularly loud sob and shudder. He slaps himself in the face and shakes his head aggressively. _Stop it._

An unexpected, "Max?" comes from the other side of the tent, making the Native boy yelp and flinch. "Shit, dude, a- are you um good?" The voice hesitantly speaks again, the high-pitched voice sounds familiar - almost comforting _(almost)_ and he allows himself to welcome it.

"Mmn... Neil...?" A pathetic sounding voice whimpers out shakily. Who– oh, that was him. Yeah that tracks.

The voice, _Neil_ , replies - "yeah, it's me...?" He sounds closer. Max sees a figure at the edge of the bed now, but he isn't any more scared.

"Neil..." He whispers out, relieved. He's safe.  
"No offence dude, but I can barely see because of the dark and you still look like shit."  
Max let's out an incredulous laugh, "you're such a dick, man!" A sniffle, "aren't you supposed to be comforting me or something?"

There's silence for a few seconds before Max tries to dispell the awkwardness by saying, maybe slightly defensively, "that was a fucking joke dude, calm your tits, I can feel you having a panic attack from over here."  
"I can, if you want?" Neil says softly, making Max scrunch up his nose in disgust(?).  
"Can what, bitch boy?"  
"You know, uh, c- comfort you?" Max can see the tall boy scratching one hand with the other nervously and narrows his eyes, now long since dried.

Silence, again.  
"What." Max deadpans, though his face feels hot.  
"Don't make it weird! You just seem, I don't know, scared?"  
"What the fuck?? I'm not fucking scared– What the fuck would I have to be scared of!" He whisper-yells defensively.  
"I don't know, you tell me!" The ginger snaps back, tone full of concern.

Max glares at him for a solid 5 seconds before groaning as if this is all a big inconvenience. "How would you comfort me then, bitch?" He phrases it sarcastically, always keeping his walls up.  
Neil pauses in shock for a brief moment before trying to hide his relieved smile. "Well, I could... uh. Give you a hug, if you want?" His smile shows clearly in his still-awkward voice.  
"You wanna cuddle me, Neil?" Max teases with a smirk, even though he's already shuffling to make room for his friend. He pats the spot next to him.  
"Oh my god, I hate you." The boy replies with no real weight behind his words, sounding all too fond for someone hates another. Neil crawls over to the spot clumsily, like a new-born deer on fucking ice. Max laughs at him.

Wrapping an arm gently around Max's shoulder, he pulls the much smaller boy closer into he's pressed into his chest. Max lifts his legs into Neil's lap and snuggles closer. Neil lets the other arm gravitate to his curly black hair, gently grooming the knots out of it.

"Not a fuckin—"  
Neil interupts, "–word? Yeah, Max, I've got it."

Maybe this life isn't so bad.


End file.
